"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 160 - Colors For Murder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

to be my day,” he mumbled.



BUCK was driving. He swung the car toward the exit. The policeman, whose name was Calvick, ran
furiously, trying to get to a spot where he could read the license plates. He did not succeed.

The cop used his right hand to lift his uniform cap and briefly scratch a spot on top of his head. He put
the cap back on and trotted to the sidewalk, where his eyes searched unsuccessfully for the girl.

“What the hell?” he remarked.

He walked rapidly toward the terminal building, intending to use the callbox there. As he walked, he
repeated the general description of the car, so he would have it straight. A police prowl car might be able
to pick up the machine, particularly since that guy's face had been so bloody.

At the callbox, he encountered Sergeant Ellis, his superior officer.

“Why, hello, Ellis!” he said, surprised. “Sergeant, there's something going on—”

“You're damned right something's going on!” The Sergeant rattled the callbox hook. “It's got angles to it
that are probably going to surprise you,” he added.

“There was a girl—”

“Yeah, we know about the girl,” said Sergeant Ellis impatiently.
“She got away.”

“No, she didn't, by a long shot,” the Sergeant said. “At least that's one thing that didn't happen to us.”

“You mean,” demanded the astonished patrolman, “that this was something you had fixed up?”

“I wouldn't call it fixed,” the Sergeant said bitterly, and began bellowing into the callbox a description,
including license number, of the car that had departed with South, Buck and Ed. When the patrolman
started to walk away, he paused to bellow, “You come back here, Calvick! Where the hell are you
going?”

“I got a beat to walk—”

“You got more than that to do. You stick around here.” The Sergeant finished his telephoning to
headquarters by mentioning exactly who would catch what if that car wasn't found. He hung up, flipped
the callbox shut, and eyed Patrolman Calvick dubiously.

“What kinda actor are you, Calvick?” he demanded. “Never mind. You better be one, and you better be
good.”




Chapter IV